


Not Only Sunburn

by epeolatry, Lynchy8, TaliesonSings (Lynchy8)



Series: Memoirs of a Hairbrush [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Conversations, Dom/sub, Emotional Infidelity, Explicit Consent, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Sex, Scene Gone Wrong, Smut, Spanking, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/TaliesonSings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac spends the summer at Combeferre's house. Mischief ensues.</p><p>Set in the summer holidays after Courf & Ferre's first year at Uni</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Époniiiinnnee. Pay attention to me!"

 

Courfeyrac was beyond bored. He was staying at Combeferre’s place for the summer holidays but his friend had gone to visit his grandmother that day, so Courfeyrac had ended up two doors down at Combeferre’s old babysitter’s house. They’d had a few drinks together earlier in the week but Éponine was much less entertaining when she was sober and studying for a final exam.

 

The older girl hunched over her textbook irritably, "For fuck sake Courf, if you don't shut up I'll-"

 

"You'll what?" Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out petulantly, "Give me a time out? Please, you're not  _my_  babysitter."

 

"A bare assed whipping is what I'll give you," muttered Éponine, intending to turn back to her books but noting that the younger boy had suddenly gone very still and quiet, his big eyes trained on her with a look somewhere between embarrassment and hope.

 

Very carefully she asked, "You and Combeferre share a room, right?"

 

Courfeyrac nodded silently.

 

Keeping her voice as neutral as possible she continued, "Have you ever noticed if he keeps a hairbrush in your room?"

 

Courfeyrac nodded vigorously, one hand subconsciously moving to his behind.

 

Éponine smirked; Combeferre had evidently been practicing. She turned back to her books and said casually, "In that case I want you to go and stand facing that wall until I'm ready for you. You've been a brat Courfeyrac, but I think I know how to fix that..."

 

Éponine gave Courfeyrac a few minutes of quiet contemplation, partly so she could finish the bullet points she had been halfway through, but mainly to see how long he would stay –  _if_  he would stay – standing at the wall as ordered.

 

After ten minutes of silent obedience Éponine relented and called Courfeyrac over to join her on the bed. He sat beside her with an easy grin.

 

“Do you know what’s about to happen?”

 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Me and your hairbrush are gonna make nice, yeah?”

 

Éponine gave him a withering glare, “If you’re not going to be responsible about this I’ll go back to my revision.”

 

“Sorry! Sorry,” and he genuinely did look sorry, how delightful! “I’ll be good.”

 

“You get one chance,” she said firmly, “To tell me what you want.”

 

Courfeyrac’s cheeks coloured, either with anticipation or embarrassment, Éponine didn’t much know or care, as she was more interested in the answer he provided in a prompt but quiet voice.

 

“Please spank me.”

 

“Good boy. Now I’m assuming that as you’re obeying my orders that you and ‘Ferre aren’t in any kind of exclusive relationship, is that correct?”

 

Courfeyrac nodded.

 

“In that case I am going to spank you, because you’ve been an annoying brat all afternoon and you deserve it. I am doing this with full assurance from yourself that it will not impact badly on either your or my relationship with Combeferre. Do you consent?”

 

Courfeyrac nodded again.

 

“Do you consider this a sexual act and will you seek orgasm?”

 

“God yes,” Courfeyrac hissed, wide eyed and wet lipped.

 

“Fine. Trousers off and get on your hands and knees on the bed.”

 

Courfeyrac obeyed but Éponine noticed there was a tension in him that her domme instincts didn’t much like.

 

“Second thoughts? If you need me to stop just say the word ‘Red’, okay?”

 

“No second thoughts,” said Courfeyrac, his voice already sounding small, “It’s just… ‘Ferre usually lets me lie over his knees.”

 

“Well unfortunately for you sweetcheeks, I’m not ‘Ferre and I don’t want your spunk getting all over my only clean pair of jeans,” to underscore her point she laid a towel beneath Courfeyrac, over the bed linen, “Now, last chance, are you still on board with this?”

 

Courfeyrac felt himself shiver at her brusqueness – something Combeferre never used with him – and murmured, “Yes Miss.”

 

“Good.”

 

The bed shifted as Éponine climbed up behind Courfeyrac and began kneading and squeezing his exposed cheeks before landing a sharp, open handed slap on the right one, making Courfeyrac gasp loudly.

 

“I’m going to warm you up with my hand first. Not to make your punishment any easier for you, but because as far as I’m concerned you are Combeferre’s property and I don’t want to overuse you. I’m still going to make you sorry, however. Understand?”

 

“Yes Miss,” Courfeyrac repeated breathily.

 

“Good,” Éponine said in a clipped tone before bringing her palm down again, this time on his left cheek.

 

The room was soon resounding with the sharp crack of flesh on flesh, each smack answered by a whimper or a groan of Courfeyrac’s. Once his arse and the backs of both thighs were an angry scarlet colour and his breath was coming in short heaves, Éponine judged that he was ready to step it up a notch. She pulled away to give him a break and asked, “How do you feel?”

 

“Sore,” whined Courfeyrac, then added with a cheeky grin, “And horny.”

 

Éponine smacked him hard enough to wipe away the grin, “Well apparently you’re not sorry yet.”

 

She opened the drawer of her bedside table and extracted a wooden hairbrush, slightly larger than Combeferre’s and a lot older, the wood smooth and worn on the handle from years of use.

 

“My mother’s,” said Éponine, by way of simple explanation, “Now lean forward on your elbows, and brace your head against your forearms. Keep your arse up. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

 

Any smart remark Courfeyrac may have been about to make was belted out of him a moment later with an indignant yelp.

 

Éponine barked, “Why are you being punished?”

 

“Because I was a brat!”

 

“Correct.”

 

Éponine swung the brush again and before Courfeyrac had time to register its whistle through the air he jerked forward, howling.

 

Éponine didn’t relent, following him with a strong hand on the back of his neck pressing him further into the mattress, holding him down as he squirmed beneath the stinging blows. Eventually his yelps devolved into whines and choked off sobs, and his writhing stilled, his body merely taking each stroke as it came with a juddering whimper.

 

Éponine noted that not only was Courfeyrac crying, but he was hard and leaking messily over the towel she had laid down. She allowed herself a sly smile as she delivered a particularly fierce blow and whispered in Courfeyrac’s ear.

 

“Are you sorry, pet?”

 

To Courfeyrac it seemed an eternity before he was able to drag in a breath and reply dreamily, “Yes M-miss. Sorry. Sorry… F-for being a br-brat.”

 

“And?”

 

Smack!

 

“Thank you! For m-my punishment.”

 

“Do you want to come?”

 

Smack!

 

“Only if you want me to,” he replied dazedly, unheeded tears wetting the bedclothes that Éponine was still pressing his face into.

 

Éponine was satisfied; to push a man so far that he was past seeking sexual release during a sexual act was her personal satisfaction.

 

“Touch yourself then, you bratty little whore. Do you think I’m going to do it for you?” she let out a cold laugh.

 

Courfeyrac whimpered and wrapped a shaking hand around himself, “Please, Miss,” he whined, bucking into his own fist, his red arse bobbing desperately, “Please don’t stop. B-beat me. Please.”

 

Well that was new.

 

Éponine had beaten plenty of men into submission and watched serenely as they’d frantically jerked themselves off at the end of it, revelling in her cool composure beside their naked desperation. But not one had ever begged her to continue thrashing them while they wanked off.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Courfeyrac begged, his eyes squeezed shut as his hand worked furiously.

 

“Have you earned it?” asked Éponine archly, improvising now.

 

Courfeyrac choked on a sob and Éponine immediately sensed that she might have gone too far.

 

“I think you have. You were such a brat earlier and now you’re pleading so politely. Good boy.”

 

Smack!

 

Courfeyrac responded with a loud groan, and two more sharp slaps with the brush was all it took for him to come over his hand with a low, breathless whine, tears still spilling down his flushed face.

 

He remained on his knees, quivering and panting as Éponine released the pressure of her hand on the back of his neck and began running her fingers through his hair instead in wordless comfort.

 

“’Ponine,” he grunted after a few minutes.

 

“I’m here. It’s over now, you took it very well. What do you need?”

 

“Can you just… hold me?”

 

“Of course,” she scooted around and pulled his limp body toward her, spooning him gently, “Does ‘Ferre usually do anything special for you?”

 

“He usually lets me… Um, take care of him. Suck him off or let him fuck me. Would you like to?” he turned hungry eyes to her, still gleaming with tears but more than sincere in his offer.

 

Éponine smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, “Thanks but no thanks. I prefer to take care of myself. Are you alright to stand?”

 

Courfeyrac got gingerly to his feet, “Yeah, thanks.”

 

“Anytime,” smiled Éponine, “But you will promise to tell ‘Ferre, won’t you? This isn’t supposed to be a secret.”

 

“Oh, I think he’ll figure it out,” grinned Courfeyrac tiredly, pulling his trousers back on and wincing slightly as they grated over the sensitive, heated skin of his backside.

 

* * *

 

“Courfeyrac, darling, could you pass the potatoes, please?”

 

Combeferre’s mother missed the uncomfortable way Courfeyrac shifted in his seat but Combeferre certainly didn’t.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre deals with the fallout from Courfeyrac's dalliance with Éponine.

“I haven’t had to spank you in weeks,” Combeferre stated neutrally once he and Courfeyrac were safely back in his bedroom behind closed doors.

 

Courfeyrac reddened. “No.”

 

“And yet you were wriggling around in your chair at dinner like a naughty schoolboy. Would you care to explain?” Combeferre was fairly certain he knew what was coming, but it was only fair to hear Courfeyrac’s side of the story first.

 

“I was being a brat earlier and Éponine… corrected me.”

 

“I see.”

 

It was as Combeferre had immediately suspected, but the admission of it lanced through him in a totally unexpected way. Theirs was an open relationship of course, hardly even a relationship at all, more of an arrangement really But Combeferre knew that Courfeyrac had never done what they did together with anyone else, and the taste of this new development was remarkably bitter; he pushed the thought from his mind.

 

Courfeyrac was perfectly entitled to seek sexual satisfaction from anyone he wanted to, and if he’d been a brat then it was no stretch of the imagination to see Éponine disciplining him – after all, her patience was less than Combeferre’s. Assuming Courfeyrac had consented (and when had he not?) Éponine had been quite within her rights to punish him. Hadn’t Combeferre told her himself that he and Courfeyrac were nothing more than casual in their intimacy? And Combeferre had complete trust in Éponine; he knew she would have taken good care of his boy…

 

_His_ boy _._

 

“Go and stand facing the wall.”

 

“’Ferre?” Courfeyrac was trembling already, and Combeferre knew from experience that his arse must still be extremely sore if Éponine had dealt with him.

 

“You have already been punished for being a brat, and I’ve no doubt that Éponine has seen to you very efficiently. However, if you needed a spanking you should have been courteous enough to wait for my return rather than imposing on my friend like that. Éponine was very kind to see to your needs but you should never have put her in that position in the first place. It was selfish, and yes, it was brattish. Do you understand?”

 

Courfeyrac hung his head resignedly, “Yes ‘Ferre.”

 

“Good. Now go to the wall.”

 

Courfeyrac obeyed in chastised silence.

 

“As you have already been spanked once today I will be giving you only fifteen strokes. This doesn’t mean that I’ll be going easy on you; I am very disappointed Courfeyrac. Good boys don’t need correction twice in one day. I will also be gagging you in order to ensure that you don’t inconvenience anyone else in the house with your noise.”

 

“Yes ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac whispered to the wall.

 

“Come here. Trousers down and over my knee.”

 

Courfeyrac winced at the roughness in Combeferre’s Voice; it was more reminiscent of Éponine’s brusque efficiency than Combeferre’s usual caring firmness. He removed his jeans and underwear, folding them and placing them on the bed beside Combeferre, before laying himself carefully over  the other boy’s lap. The heat still radiated from his abused backside and he knew full well that Combeferre was inspecting the redness left on him by Éponine.

 

“You must have been quite the brat to earn these marks,” Combeferre commented in a dry, clinical voice, already clutching his hairbrush and scratching the bristles harshly over the raw skin, making Courfeyrac whine and squirm pitifully.

 

“What did she do to you?”

 

“She used her h-hand first,” whimpered Courfeyrac, shifting in a vain attempt to escape the firm stroke of the grating bristles over his sensitive skin, “T-to warm me up. Th-then her b-brush.”

 

“Well you seem warm enough to me already,” observed Combeferre, and Courfeyrac felt an edge of coldness that he’d never heard before in his friend’s Voice, “So we’ll progress straight to the brush. Open your mouth.”

 

Courfeyrac did so and groaned quietly around the wad of fabric that was pressed roughly in to gag him; it was his own boxer shorts and he could taste his own musk on them.

 

The first blow was delivered hard and without any warning right over the worst of the marks Éponine had left earlier, right in the centre of Courfeyrac’s arse. Courfeyrac yelped into the makeshift gag and lurched almost off Combeferre’s lap. Tears sprang instantly to his eyes as Combeferre hissed, “You will stay _still_ ,” in a cold, foreign Voice. Courfeyrac’s desperate sob was muffled when the second blow came as hard as the first, jerking the tears out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

 

“Two.”

 

The blows kept raining down, each as hard as the first and with no respite offered between them. Combeferre was striking no harder than usual, certainly not maliciously, but the spanking felt somehow worse than usual, devoid of the warm, gentle undercurrent of care that kept drawing Courfeyrac back for more punishment at Combeferre’s feet. Courfeyrac felt empty.

 

Mercifully, Combeferre had at least established a constant rhythm that Courfeyrac was able to sink into, and by the eighth blow he was too dazed to even feel the tears streaming down his face. Combeferre wasn’t talking, wasn’t saying anything other than the steady recitation of numbers, and if Courfeyrac wasn’t so far gone he’d have realised that the vocal reassurance was what was missing. As it was, Courfeyrac was only dimly aware that something different – something unpleasant – was at work here. There was something so cold and aloof in Combeferre’s Voice, and Courfeyrac’s dick was only giving a feeble attempt at hardness against his  thigh.

 

“Ten.” Combeferre counted. There was a pause. Courfeyrac waited, anticipating the next blow but it never came.

 

“We’re done.” Combeferre had never sounded further away, more alien to Courfeyrac, than he did in that moment. Courfeyrac was lost.

 

He  whimpered as Combeferre removed the damp material from his mouth, seemingly unconcerned about the tears and drool that dripped onto the floor.

 

“B-but- You said- ” Courfeyrac didn’t understand. In his fuzzy post-spanking haze he was both unbelievably grateful and terribly horrified that it had suddenly ceased.

 

“I said we’re done,” repeated Combeferre firmly, “Take as long as you need.”

 

Courfeyrac remained limp over Combeferre’s lap, listening to his own rasping sobs and Combeferre’s deep, measured breathing as he slowly drifted back to himself.

 

“Are you okay?” Combeferre’s Voice was softer when next he spoke, closer to the gentle tones that Courfeyrac was used to after being taken apart, but still discomfortingly distant.

 

“Mhm,” he huffed out shakily.

 

Comforting hands drew soft circles over his back until he was ready to slide off Combeferre’s lap and onto the floor between Ferre’s  knees, as per their usual post-spanking ritual.

 

“Please can I- oh. You’re not…”

 

Combeferre had never yet failed to have a hard on after beating Courfeyrac, but tonight had already been different in so many ways…

 

“No,” said Combeferre more gently than he’d spoken all night, “Neither are you.”

 

Courfeyrac knew it was true, though he didn’t know why. His arse was on fire of course, worse than it had ever been, but that had never stopped him before.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. Come here,” Combeferre helped him onto the bed and pulled him close, making sure not to irritate the bruised skin of his behind any further.

 

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac breathed, not entirely sure why.

 

“It’s okay,” replied Combeferre, pressing a kiss to the back of Courfeyrac’s head, “It’s over now.”

 

But he didn’t add the usual, “You’re forgiven,” and Courfeyrac still had an ominous feeling that all was not quite right between them, despite Combeferre’s continued words of assurance whispered into his hair.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre lay awake for a long time after he thought Courfeyrac had fallen asleep. He hadn’t exactly safeworded but he might as well have done.   He had ended the scene earlier than agreed, after all.

 

It had felt so wrong, Courfeyrac’s usual wanton and delightful moaning replaced with broken sobs; his lack of struggling, his timid acceptance of a greater pain than he’d ever before endured, and – worst of all - Combeferre’s own enjoyment had been noticeably elusive throughout.

 

More than that, he had _felt_ strange, unable to find the usual blissful focus that laying into Courfeyrac had always provided. He had ostensibly punished Courfeyrac for inconveniencing Éponine instead of simply waiting for Combeferre to give him what he needed and at the time he had honestly felt that to be true.

 

However, the more he probed his thought process, the more it seemed that he may have been motivated more by his own sense of being left out, as well as a terrible internalised fear of being discarded.  

 

He was aware that his romantic feelings for Courfeyrac were never going to be fulfilled in an exclusive relationship; Courfeyrac had very gently made this clear the very first time they had sat down to negotiate this facet of themselves – but spanking had always been something special, something kept between themselves.

 

He lay in the dark, turning the events of the day over and over in his head. He couldn’t help but wonder what had passed between Courfeyrac and Eponine while he had been making polite conversation.

 

Had Courfeyrac enjoyed it? Did he intend to go there again for more? Was she better than he was? Would Courfeyrac ever want to be spanked by Combeferre again – especially after the dismal failure of this evening.

 

It dawned on Combeferre that he had been so harsh with Courfeyrac out of raw, naked jealousy, without even realising so himself. The realisation of this made him sick to his stomach.

 

Fuck.

 

That was unforgivable. That was taking their special and precious relationship and using it to take out frustration and anger rather than enacting a mutually agreed scene. That was selfishness of the first degree and it demonstrated an astounding lack of self-awareness (something Combeferre had always felt he’d had in spades).

 

The only thing more unforgivable than doing what he had done would be allowing it to fester, so he resolved himself to make a full and unflinching confession and apology to Courfeyrac first thing in the morning.

 

With these thoughts Combeferre fell into a restless sleep, filled with dreams of absolution and the occasional nightmare scene of condemnation.

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac lay curled up on his bed, his back to the room, facing the wall as if trying to echo a more comforting ritual. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so entirely miserable and wretched and it had very little to do with his aching backside.

 

It said a lot about his state of mind that his heart hurt more than his arse did right now.

 

Courfeyrac didn’t do relationships. The few he had managed to be dragged into had always ended in disaster. It always started nicely. Lots of “getting to know you” and “showing an interest” but later there would be loaded questions, passive-aggressive disagreements.

 

There had been possessive partners who wanted to know where he was all the time, what he was doing, why he wasn’t with them. The tighter they clenched their hands around him the faster he ran in the opposite direction.

 

There had been girls and guys who had done their fair share of the hurting; people he had trusted, had thought “maybe this time it’ll be worth being in a Relationship, because they’re different” only for them to fuck someone else or dump him for being too much work, or come up with some other half-arsed reason to rip his heart to shreds.

 

Relationships were a bad idea and he made it his mission in life to stay as far away from them as possible. He couldn’t hurt anyone if they knew from the start what they were getting into and if it wasn’t for them, well, then they wouldn’t even start anything, then there would be nothing for him to break.

 

So how the fuck had he ended up here? How the fuck had he ended up falling into a relationship with Combeferre?

 

Because they might not have been dating officially, they might not have actually gone out for romantic dinners, and they certainly had never held hands in public. But right now everything he was feeling reminded him of the immediate aftermath of a Relationship; more specifically, an ended Relationship.

 

Damn it, he loved Combeferre. Not in a gooey way. It was more than that, way more than that. The guy was patient and caring and usually very cool. He made very reasonable requests and was happy to take Courfeyrac in hand when he failed to meet those expectations he held of him. The fact that he took time to form reasonable expectations without any side helpings of mind-fuckery was just astounding to Courfeyrac.

 

And he had fucked it up.

 

He could see it in Combeferre’s eyes. He had hurt Combeferre deeply and for once it hadn’t been about sex. It had never been about the sex with them, although the sex was pretty breathtaking, but there had always been something more. There had been the spanking. No one had ever touched Courfeyrac the way Combeferre had. Until today. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

 

What if he had killed the spark for good? He had never appreciated before today just how much Ferre did for him, the loving and gentle way he handled him; how he was efficient but caring, structured yet tender.

 

That evening had been awful. It had been wrong. The blows were wrong, his body was wrong, Combeferre was wrong. And the knowledge of that hurt him to his core.

 

Combeferre might never look at him the same way ever again. This was the closest thing he had experienced to a Relationship in a long time and he had broken it, possibly beyond all repair. What’s more, he had probably ruined their fantastic friendship. Had it been worth it?

 

Courfeyrac curled up into an even tighter ball, willing sleep to give him some brief respite from his thoughts which hurt far more than the echoes of the brushes against his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the day before - the boys need to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge bouquets of roses and multiple glasses of fine wine to my lovely co-author epeolatry for dragging me to the finish line with this :)

“I think we need to talk.”

Courfeyrac hated those words. He hated them with an absolute passion. They only ever meant one thing. Despite that, he obediently followed Combeferre into the living room.

\-----

Combeferre stood in his parent’s living room. It was a bright space, calm and comfortable. More importantly, it was fairly neutral territory. His parents had advised that they would be out for the day, leaving the boys to their own devices. He now took the opportunity to have probably one of the most important, most terrifying conversations of his life so far.

He had set up a nest of cushions on the sofa for Courfeyrac, extremely mindful that the other boy was likely to have a fair amount of bruising after the events of the previous day. Once Courfeyrac was settled, albeit stiffly, he turned to face him as though facing a jury and took a very deep breath.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak to me,” Combeferre began formally. 

“We need to talk about last night.” The pause hung heavy in the room. 

“Was it bad for you as well?” broke in Courfeyrac with a rueful smile, “I mean, it wasn’t great was it? You called time early and neither of us…. That’s what you want to talk about, right?”

He looked so boyish, the way his hair stuck up at a funny angle, his eyes very open and wide. It made Combeferre ache right through to see that hopeful yet lost expression on his face.

“Yes,” Combeferre took a deep breath, “I want to apologise.”

He had been over this in his head a number of times, so when he opened his mouth the words came easily, but not any less painfully.

“Firstly, I told you that I was punishing you for inconveniencing Éponine. At the time I believed that to be true, but upon further reflection I have reached the conclusion that my motives were rather more personal than that. To be specific, I was jealous of what went on between you two.” 

Combeferre found it impossible to keep looking at Courfeyrac and talk at the same time, so he turned and began to pace the room, his hands folded behind his back as he walked and spoke.

“I know that we have vetoed a sexually exclusive relationship, that we agreed such a relationship between us would be untenable. However I was under the impression that the kinkier side of our activities was understood to be between us only.” He paused to rub his eyes, to remove the mental image of Eponine and Courfeyrac together.

“This was a misinterpretation on my part and it was unacceptable for me to punish you on that basis.”

He paused for a moment, wondering if Courfeyrac would interrupt him. When he was met with silence, he continued.

“Secondly, I ended the scene prematurely, without using the proper safeword, and without giving you any reason for my decision. That, too, was irresponsible, and evasive, and I’m sorry.”

He turned back to the boy on the sofa whose brow was furrowed. Courfeyrac looked like he very much wanted to say something. Where before he had paused for an expected interruption, now Combeferre continued at speed, hoping very much that the other boy would let him finish what he had to say before speaking.

“Thirdly, I gagged you before giving any adequate explanation of what you should do in the event that you should want or need to use your safeword. That was an unforgivable oversight on my part, and it put you in danger of physical discomfort or worse.” Combeferre swallowed painfully as the full force of the potential repercussions of that hit him hard.

“To sum up, my behaviour was unacceptable. It was unbefitting someone in a position of such trust as you place in me and what we do together, not to mention an abuse of our friendship. I will, of course, understand completely if you have no wish to continue our arrangement after such a breach of that trust and I ask only that you accept my sincerest apologies.”

Combeferre sucked in a shaky breath. It was over. He had spilled his insides, admitted his mistakes and done his best. Now all he could do was wait.

He knew, of course, that they were done. What had happened, what he had put Courfeyrac through, was completely unforgivable and irresponsible. However at least he could take comfort in the fact that it had ended with honesty and integrity, rather than an unhealthy relationship continued in shadow and deceit. If he was extremely lucky, maybe he and Courfeyrac might one day be friends again.

“‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac’s voice was weak, quiet and careful, and the sound alone nearly broke him. Oh this was it. 

Combeferre braced himself for whatever gentle words his friend was so well versed in using to let people down.

_Maybe we should just take some time apart._

_I want to see other people._

_This isn’t what I expected it to be when we started._

_You’re a great guy, but…_

“’Ferre?” Courfeyrac repeated, and Combeferre realised that he had been looking anywhere but at his friend.

“Sorry. I’m listening, please go on.”

\----

If it wasn’t for the fact that Courfeyrac had barely managed a slice of toast at breakfast, he would swear that he was about to be sick. Combeferre was before him, standing stiffly away from him as though afraid a touch from Courfeyrac might melt his very skin. He spoke in strange, stilted sentences that bore no resemblance to the man he had come to know over the past year. The words he used sounded bitter coming from that mouth. More than anything Courfeyrac wanted to make it stop. He didn’t want this.

“Last night wasn’t great but you can’t only blame yourself for that.” He struggled to pick the right words out of his head. This was important. He sensed this was his one and only chance and if he didn’t make his intentions abundantly clear then he was in serious danger of losing Combeferre for ever. His Ferre. It couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“Look, I’m sorry, ok. I never realised that _this_ – the spankings – were so special to you…” Even as the words tumbled from his lips he knew they were wrong. He saw the shutters fall across Combeferre’s eyes.

Shit.

No, no, no!

“I mean it’s special for me too, believe me!” Courfeyrac hurried on, somewhat desperate now. Couldn’t Combeferre see how desperate he was? He had always been so good at reading him before, why now had his friend lost his sight. He prayed to the stars above for Combeferre to see him now, to read his soul.

“Until yesterday I’d never… with anyone but you. I promise, I swear. I’d never experienced anything like it. The way you are with me. It’s so fucking amazing.” Combeferre didn’t move. His face was closed; not angry. It was worse than angry. Combeferre angry was something he was able to work with. Combeferre shut down, Combeferre emotionless, was terrifying.

“I mean. Hell ‘Ferre, I’ve never even let another guy fuck me!” Combeferre’s head jerked slightly at that, his expression searching. Courfeyrac grabbed onto the motion and ran with it.

“I’ve never bottomed with anyone but you ‘Ferre, and I guess that might not sound special to some people, but it’s a big deal for me.” Combeferre was looking at him now, really looking at him. Not at his shoulder, not at the bit of wall to the right of his head, but actually at him.

“Look, we’ve talked about how I can’t offer you the kind of commitment you want but I can promise you right now that your cock is the only one that has ever or will ever be in my arse.”

Courfeyrac needed Combeferre to understand that this was different, that this was special to him too. He might not have realised it before but he sure as hell realised it now. Only at the hand of Eponine had he realised just how special his times with ‘Ferre were, how unique they were.

As romantic declarations went the delivery was a little weak, but Courfeyrac hoped the thought might count for something.

Combeferre’s expression remained stony and as the moments ticked by Courfeyrac’s heart began to falter. 

“I put you in a terrible position;” Combeferre finally spoke. “One in which you could have been seriously hurt, both physically and psychologically. What’s worse, I did it out of pure selfishness which I was too blind to even recognise it myself. It was unforgivable. Do you understand that?” Courfeyrac gave a wan smile. 

“Well that’s too bad, because I forgive you.”

“ _Courf_ ,” Combeferre paused with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose just above his glasses, a nervous habit Courfeyrac knew too well. 

“I do. Completely and unreservedly. You are forgiven. I forgive you. Just like all those times you forgave me.” Combeferre let out an exasperated sigh.

“This is completely different. Have you actually thought about this? About what I put you through?”

Courfeyrac paused. He thought about last night. He thought about how alone he had been, how miserable. He thought about that closed looked on Combeferre’s face just before he went to the wall. He thought about how broken his Voice had sounded when he stopped the scene.

He thought about how Combeferre had stopped.

“You stopped.”

Combeferre jerked his head, his face confused.

“I, what?” he stuttered, unable to form a proper question. Courfeyrac smiled easily.

“You stopped. Ok, so you didn’t use the safeword, neither did I. That’s just as much my fault as yours. I knew the scene was wrong, I knew you were wrong and it felt all wrong and it was just about the worst thing we’ve ever done together. But you stopped. You could have easily carried on to fifteen –” Combeferre made a coughing sound that suggested ‘easily’ might have been the wrong word.

“But you stopped. You stopped because you didn’t want to hurt me. Because it wasn’t working. Because you care for me.”

The two friends observed each other, their expressions remarkably alike.

“You made a mistake. Congratulations! You’re human after all.”

\----

Combeferre couldn’t honestly believe what he was hearing. Courfeyrac sat before him, his face pale, either from yesterday’s endeavours or today’s conversation, he couldn’t tell. All he could focus on were the three words the man before him kept uttering repeatedly; “I forgive you.”

Did Courfeyrac not understand? Combeferre needed him to understand, to see how very serious this situation was. It wasn’t a simple mistake it was the worst mistake, the very worst. Especially as Combeferre should have known better.

“I- ” he tried to speak, tried to make Courf see.

“It was a mistake and it was just as much my fault.” Courfeyrac said firmly. 

“I should have discussed it with you beforehand. The non-exclusive sex rule should only have applied to sex. I chose to read it as ambiguous and applied it to spankings without at least talking to you and clarifying our position. We are both at fault here. I’m sorry.”

A slightly awkward silence descended. Combeferre’s brain was buzzing slightly in his head. There was nothing to do but rub his eyes again with his hands. He heard Courfeyrac chuckle. It was a beautiful, human sound, belying the situation at hand.

“So we’re both sorry,” Courf murmured. “Where do we go from here?”

\----

Courfeyrac wished Combeferre would say something, or at least look at him. He longed to know what the other man was thinking. 

He was pacing again, staring at the carpet. Courf let him pace it out, let the man think. He wanted Combeferre to be sure and certain of whatever decision he made and for that he needed to think clearly.

“After what happened last night,” he began steadily, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not sure, I mean, would you want…?” Combeferre sighed in frustration.

“You don’t want to spank me anymore?” Courf couldn’t help the way his voice came out, how utterly defeated he sounded. It was his main fear. Combeferre didn’t want him like that anymore, not now. He had suspected as much but to be so close to actually hearing it confirmed was almost too much to bear.

“You would permit me?” Courfeyrac’s head snapped up at Combeferre’s awed and shocked tone.

“After I hurt you. After I betrayed your trust. After I spanked you without giving you an honest reason, after I –”

“Please.” Courfeyrac had never crushed so much emotion into one syllable before.

\----

“Please.”

Damn him. Just that one word sent a spiral of heat pooling in Combeferre’s gut. That, and the look on Courfeyrac’s face, the look in his eyes. He felt everything within him contract sharply and he suddenly found it hard to breath.

Caution prevailed however. 

“But what about Éponine? If a spanking is what you need- ”

“I need you,” Courfeyrac insisted and Combeferre suddenly felt like he needed to sit down but his feet remained glued to the spot as he watched Courfeyrac speak with a strange fascination. 

“Éponine was… ok. Different. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I did ask for it. But I found out pretty quickly that she wasn’t _you_. It wasn’t the same and it certainly wasn’t as good.”

Those words shouldn’t have resulted in the high, giddy sensation that suddenly coursed through Combeferre, but they did nonetheless. He maintained a stoic façade, however, and allowed Courfeyrac to continue.

“Look, I didn’t realise, ok? Which is entirely my fault and I take full responsibility, but I thought a spanking was a spanking. It wasn’t til I was on my knees –” Combeferre made a strangled coughing sound.

“She didn’t… you weren’t over her knee?” He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself like this, why he needed to hear the gory details. But he did. He needed to purge the whole thing from his head. Courf shook his head.

“Nope, she wouldn’t. She refused. Like I said, it was different and it was an experience, but it wasn’t you.” He paused and Combeferre could see the other boy was breathing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off his face. He waited for him to continue.

“You have this way of… fuck, I don’t know… you make me feel safe, ok? Safe and secure even though you’re beating the crap out of me and I love it. And with her, all I could think about was you and how you made me feel.” Courf was flushed bright pink now at his admission. He had never intended to reveal that, least of all to Ferre. “Just, don’t tell her I said that, ok?”

At last, Ferre smiled. Courf returned it shyly.

“Ferre, I don’t want anyone else to spank me, I want you.”

It was exactly what Combeferre had heard all night as he’d dreamt of forgiveness.

He wanted to move forward, to take Courf in his arms and hold him but something held him back, some last dreg of wariness. Courfeyrac might still trust him but could he trust himself?

A soft hand pressed to his face caught his attention. At some point Courfeyrac had left the sofa and was now standing before him, his fingers brushing lightly over Combeferre’s cheek.

“The way I feel when I’m over your knee is like no other feeling in the world.” Courfeyrac’s voice was low, like velvet.

“I stare down at the carpet and you always make me wait. You know just how long to pause for, to get my legs shaking. I love the way you tug down my boxers.” Combeferre let out a small moan, his eyes falling shut as he fought against the tide of images Courfeyrac’s voice conjured in his mind’s eye.

“Your voice! Fuck, Ferre, do you know what your voice does to me? From above me comes the voice of god and his name is Combeferre and today he’s going to make me a better person because he cares for me. Because you care for me.”

Courf needs to stop. He needs to stop now.

“So I lie there, bent across your knees, my own legs shaking with anticipation, my arse all bare and held up for you, my boxers round my knees, nice and ready and in the perfect position. And then you hit me and you’re the only thing in this world that exists. And it’s heaven.”

Combeferre gasps, his breath hitching at the thought of Courf’s reassuring weight on him, the way he twitches and squirms beneath him.

“Please, Ferre,” Courf is pressed up against him now, whispering in his ear.

“Please, Ferre. I need you to spank me.”

\-----

Combeferre closed his eyes.

Courfeyrac couldn't possibly know what he was saying, what he was asking. How could they do this after all that had happened? How could they even begin.

"Please, Combeferre."

Courfeyrac's voice brought him back into the room. He took a deep breath as he made a decision.

"Go to our room and face the wall."

The blaze of Courfeyrac's eyes and the broadness of his delighted smile sent a bolt straight through his heart.

At the sound of Courfeyrac's feet mounting the stairs, Combeferre went to the kitchen to find the first aid kit. He extracted a tube of antiseptic cream. Before they did anything he was going to make damn sure he wasn't going to hurt Courfeyrac anymore. Courfeyrac might have forgiven him but that didn't mean Combeferre had forgiven himself. He was going to do the best job he possibly could and that would start with making sure he had cream ready for aftercare. Eponine's words from eight months before echoed in his ears.

_Your boy trusts you. Take good care of him, Combeferre because he deserves it._

His heart stuttered a little when he entered the bedroom. Courfeyrac was against the wall, stripped to his boxers, hands crossed behind his back. He steeled himself internally, suddenly nervous. He approached the other boy slowly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, to personally turn him around to face him.

"Tell me what you want." He was surprised at how calm he sounded, when everything inside him was screaming loudly. Courfeyrac was looking at the floor, so Combeferre used two fingers under his chin to raise those dark brown eyes upwards.

"I want you to spank me, please, Combeferre." Courfeyrac's voice was warm and dark. Combeferre sighed. He had to be sure.

"Turn around." A shadow of confusion passed over Courfeyrac's eyes but he turned away obediently. Combeferre traced his fingers down the man's spine, making him shiver, until he reached the waistband of Courfeyrac's boxers.

"Let's have a look first." He carefully pulled them out and then down, making a particular effort not to brush his skin with the material. He heard Courfeyrac's breath hitch at the touch and movement, but it wasn't a sound of pain and that gave Combeferre some confidence.

There was no doubt about it; Courfeyrac had been thoroughly spanked the day before. The skin of his arse was marked with purples and blues of two different brush edges. Combeferre rested his hand against the skin but did not press down, testing the temperature which was cooler than he expected. He was sure Courfeyrac could feel it though. He sighed and went to stand up.

"Please, Combeferre. I need it. I need you to spank me." Courfeyrac had always been good at begging, his voice going straight to Combeferre's gut.

"Very well." he spoke firmly. "As you are so insistent, I will spank you." Instantly Courfeyrac's shoulders relaxed and he sighed heavily. Combeferre turned him back around.

"You really want this, don't you." It wasn't a question, more of a realisation. Courfeyrac looked right back at him, an unbelievable amount of trust and lust in his eyes.

"Yes, please, Combeferre."

Combeferre led him by the arm over to the bed, a slow, fluid movement. He sat down and delicately guided the boy over his knees. Courfeyrac settled immediately and Combeferre was suddenly aware of how familiar it all was, Courf's warm weight upon him.

"I am going to spank you with my hand. Because this is us starting again. Right from the beginning. And we're going to do it right. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Combeferre," Courf's soft yet bizarrely cheerful voice sang out from somewhere near the floor.

"Tell me your SafeWord, Courf." he instructed.

"Chastity."

"Good boy."

Then he brought his hand down with a smack. Courf groaned loudly, the sound vibrating right through him. Combeferre spanked him again.

"Do you remember our first time?" He slapped the right cheek, aiming for skin that was more white than purple.

"You were so unruly, so badly behaved when we first met." Courf hummed and whined, a beautiful sound and already Combeferre could feel the man was hard against his thigh.

"You needed taking in hand." He spanked him again, twice, before moving to Courf's thighs.

"You're so much better now, don't you think." He hadn't intended it to be a question and he was surprised when he got an answer.

"Yes, Combeferre, thank - thank you" his voice was breathy and lost but the words were sincere.

"You can be such a good boy for me," he praised, continuing the spanking. Courf moaned loudly, as though in agreement.

Combeferre was heady with elation. This was right. This was amazing. The sounds and movements being made by the young man across his knees were just outrageous and went straight to Combeferre's cock.

He still had trouble believing the conversation from this morning had actually happened. Where they were now, how he felt right at this moment, was about as far away from last night as East from West.

At the next blow, Courfeyrac made a mewling sound and that was it. Something inside Combeferre broke. If he didn't get to fuck his good boy right now it was quite possible the world might actually end.

\-----

Courf was in a very strange fuzzy world wedged between sharp stings of pain and blankets of warm pleasure.

Every slap of Combeferre's hand against his poor arse sent a jolt of electricity through his whole body and if he has time to reflect he would swear he would never be able to sit straight again.

But beyond that, around that, was Combeferre. He radiated warmth, his scent permeated every pore and Courf's very soul felt enveloped in safety. Combeferre was here, his voice loving and attentive somewhere above him. It was painfully divine.

Then suddenly, it all stopped. Combeferre had ceased to spank him.

Panic shot through him, sobering him, as cold as a bucket of water. Why had Combeferre stopped? Flashbacks to the night before rose up, unbidden. Maybe he had misread this completely. Maybe Combeferre did not feel as he did. Maybe...

He became aware of the man in question leaning forward, positioning his head to whisper into Courf's ear. Courf could feel the warmth of his breath, hear the shallow gasps of air as Combeferre uttered six of the hottest words Courf had ever heard in all his born days.

"I need to fuck you. Now."

Courfeyrac had never been out of position quicker, moving up from Combeferre's lap so that the man could move to the bedside table and the condoms and lube within.

\----

Combeferre took the opportunity to try and clear some of the fog from his head. The temptation to throw Courf across the bed and fuck him senseless was almost overwhelming but he knew he had to do this properly. Not only was Courf's backside extremely sensitive right now, but they hadn't fucked in a couple of weeks. If what Courf said was true (and Combeferre didn't doubt him for a moment) then he was going to need a fair bit of prep to open him fully.

When he turned back his first thought was that Courf had left the room because he wasn't where Combeferre had left him, standing on wobbly legs next to the bed.

He comically looked side to side around the room, wondering where the hell he had gone. When he saw him he thought he might actually melt. Courf was back in position against the wall. He was showing Combeferre, in his own way, that he was a good boy, being good and going to the wall without having to be told.

Combeferre stood up and went over to him.

"Who's my good boy!" He cooed, appreciatively. "You're so good for me, showing me how well I've trained you. Going back to the wall without being asked - I'm very pleased." He pressed a kiss to Courf's neck, drawing forth a moan. He sucked down and when he broke away a purple mark was flourishing against the skin.

"My perfect boy," he whispered, before biting down on his shoulder, imprinting him with a row of pink teeth marks.

He fully removed Courf's boxers before spinning him around.

"I want to fuck you." Courf whimpered at his words.

"Please, Combeferre. Please fuck me."

"Hush now, needy boy. First I need to get you ready. Go and lie on your front for me." Courf obeyed immediately.

Combeferre took the lube and very carefully pressed a finger inside, enjoying the slight mewl Courf gave in response. He moved his finger, slowly stretching, trying not to cause too much discomfort.

"Ready for another?" he teased. Courf almost wept in response.

"Please, Ferre!" he begged, verging on being overstimulated. Combeferre hushed him gently whilst scissoring two fingers. One more and he'd be perfect.

"One more, my lovely boy, and then I promise, I'll fuck you." Courf could only howl in response, pressing his face into the pillow. There was a mewl of protest as Combeferre withdrew his fingers.

He opened the packet and rolled on the condom before turning back to Courfeyrac who was still juddering breaths into the pillow.

"I need you to turn over. I want to see you."

Slowly, almost sluggishly, Courfeyrac turned himself over, hissing at the contact with the sheets. Combeferre reached forward to brush the hair out of his eyes. Then he lined himself up and pushed in.

This was like nothing they'd ever done before. It was slow yet desperate, careful but filled with lust and need. He was mindful of the pain Courf must be in but with every thrust, the other boy rose to meet him, his head thrown back in obvious pleasure.

Despite his best intentions, Combeferre soon gave in to temptation and lust and began to fuck Courf hard.

"You're my boy," he gasped. "My good, special boy. Mine"

"Yes." Courf replied, eyes closed, drowning in the overwhelming sensation.

"Look at me," Courf's eyes flickered open and the boy grinned up at him, eyes flashing.

"Yours," he said firmly, before crying out as Combeferre found his spot.

A few moments later and he came loudly, splattering them both with come. Feeling Courf tighten around his cock, it took only a few thrusts more for Combeferre to join him, managing to avoid collapsing on top of him right at the last moment.

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to each other's harsh and jagged breathing. Ignoring the sticky mess around them, they reached for each other at the same moment, both clinging as though to life itself.

"You're my good boy," Combeferre whispered. "And you're forgiven."

Courfeyrac exhaled with wonder at the sound of those longed-for words.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac's dirtiest dreams come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immense thanks to my lovely co-author Lynchy for all her help with this chapter! I couldn't do it without her :)

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac had murmured dreamily, blissed out on the bed in Combeferre’s arms. “God that was just the best thing ever… All I’ve ever wanted. All I’ll ever want.”

 

His eyes were closed; he was sinking into a fucked-out slumber.

 

“Well, almost. Second on the list,” he was rambling now against Combeferre’s chest, words slurring together. “I mean, I’ll always want that. But still- ”

 

“Second?” Combeferre felt all the fear and dread that had inhabited him prior to their conversation (and the ensuing make up sex) swooping back into his gut.

 

Courfeyrac’s eyes fluttered, oblivious to Combeferre’s consternation as he drifted deliciously into a post-orgasmic haze.

 

“Mmmm, the only thing I would want more than you spanking the ever living fuck out of me would be two of you. Imagine that! Two of you working me over… I’d like that.” His eyes were closing again, lost in his fantasy. “Maybe one day… Maybe we could ask ‘Ponine… Maybe…”

 

But he was asleep before he could finish his sentence.

 

Combeferre’s brain whirred into action; he and Éponine? Was that really Courfeyrac’s sexual fantasy? Would he actually enjoy being pushed to such limits by not just one, but _two_ people?

 

… would Combeferre enjoy it?

 

He searched within himself and surprisingly found no aversion to the idea. Now that Courfeyrac had allayed his fears and acclaimed him as his preferred person from whom to receive spankings, the jealousy he had felt towards Éponine had vanished. The more he thought, the better the idea sounded. It would fulfil Courfeyrac’s fantasy, and at the same time be quite instructive for Combeferre to watch his more experienced ex-babysitter work.

 

He had been meaning to speak to her anyway, to discuss what had gone wrong between himself and Courfeyrac, how they had solved it, and what her recommendations were for avoiding any similar pitfalls in future. It would be no real diversion to ask her opinion on the openness of their relationship, her own feelings on threesomes, and if she was amenable, to propose turning Courfeyrac’s fantasy into reality…

 

* * *

 

Éponine pinched the bridge of her nose, "Tell me you're joking," her voice was quiet but rough, and Combeferre was instantly ten years old again.

 

“We made up afterwards, once we- ”

 

"What part of _'always remember the importance of communication when you do this with someone'_ were you not listening to?!"

 

Combeferre's mind blanked in the face of her anger.

 

"Ugh, you know what? Get yourself against that wall. Now!"

 

He obeyed immediately, old instincts from childhood kicking in. It hadn't been often that he had merited his babysitter's wrath. By and large they had gotten along extremely well but on the few occasions that he and his brother had tried her patience she had proved formidable.

 

Now he stood facing the wall, knowing that whatever was about to happen he fully deserved.

 

He lost track of time completely. It could have been minutes or hours before he was told he could turn around, but when he did he found that his legs were slow to agree and there was a terrible knot in his stomach. He might be in trouble but he didn't want this.

 

"Please, ‘Ponine -" he started.

 

Her face softened immediately and she pulled him into her arms, "Hey, it's okay," she hushed him. "I'm not going to do anything."

 

She pulled back, taking him firmly by the shoulders and looking right into his eyes, "I just needed you to understand. I want to talk to you about this, not beat you for it. That wouldn't help you, me, or Courfeyrac."

 

She pulled him close again, soothing him. At times it was easy to forget how young Combeferre was, how new to this he and Courfeyrac both were. Of course they would make mistakes. But hopefully they wouldn't have to learn the hard way all the time.

 

"I'm sorry if I scared you, but it was the quickest way to show you,” she withdrew again, but maintained a friendly, grounding hand on his arm. "See? Communication, Combeferre. It's so fucking vital.”

 

She released him, allowing him to take a step back and sit down. Combeferre felt the adrenaline of the moment drift away. Point made; message received.

 

“We have ‘communicated’ since then,” he said at last, when he had the confidence back in his voice. “And Courfeyrac has communicated to me something that he wants. A fantasy, if you will.” He explained to Éponine what had passed that morning. Éponine pursed her lips, considering.

 

“Ok, so, following on from our recent lesson on communication I am going to ask you an important question that I expect you to answer truthfully; are you okay with this?”

 

“Yes,” Combeferre answered immediately.

 

Éponine raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

 

“I’ve thought it through and as long as I am there the entire time with him I don’t think I’ll have any issues with you being involved. If anything, watching you work will be quite instructive.”

 

Éponine hummed thoughtfully, still looking a little unconvinced but obviously tempted by the opportunity to show the hapless pair how to run a proper scene.

 

“Okay,” she said finally, “ _But_. I have a few conditions. First, and most important of all, the three of us will sit down together as equals before we do anything else and we discuss the exact parameters of the scene.”

 

She looked pointedly at her friend before continuing.

 

“Second, I am not going to be touching Courfeyrac. If we do this it needs to be done in a way that reinforces _your_ relationship with him, not undermines it. I said to him the other day that as far as I’m concerned he’s your property and that still stands. He’s your sub, not mine.”

 

“My… sub?”

 

Éponine’s mouth fell open for a second then promptly clicked shut into a hard line, “Your sub, submissive. Please tell me you’ve discussed these basic terms with him?”

 

Combeferre’s gaze dropped to the floor, “Not as such, no.”

 

“Christ.”

 

Éponine took a number of deep breaths before saying, “Okay. Let’s go back to basics. First off, you understand what I mean when by the terms submissive and dominant, yeah?”

 

“Yes,” Combeferre’s cheeks were flushing gradually, “We’ve just never used those words to describe what we do. It’s been something of a casual arrangement. We’ve never really used any words, come to think of it.”

 

“Well my suggestion would be to start. Have you discussed limits? Things you’re unwilling to do, or things you’d like to try?”

 

“Not until last night.”

 

“Okay,” Éponine looked almost at the end of her tether, “Do you have a safeword at least?”

 

“Chastity,” Combeferre supplied promptly.

 

Éponine gave a wry smile at that, “Well that’s something at least. Clearly some mistakes have been made but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some decent communication. Here’s what’s going to happen…”

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac’s head was buzzing. Even after the two hour long marathon of negotiations between himself, Combeferre, and Éponine half of him still couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten.

 

He couldn’t quite get his head around the fact that, after one mumbled confession three days before, he was now kneeling on the floor of Éponine’s bedroom, naked and hard already without having been touched once.

 

He held his hands clasped behind him and his eyes were trained on the ground as ordered; all he could see were the toes of Éponine’s scuffed combat boots on one side of him and the very edge of Combeferre’s trainers as the pair of them loomed over him discussing his fate.

 

“What shall we do with your little slut?”

 

Courfeyrac shivered; he had okayed the use of derogatory names with a grin and an eyeroll but to hear such words caressed by Éponine’s husky voice affected him more than he’d expected.

 

“I haven’t decided yet. What do you think?”

 

Combeferre’s deep, smooth Voice sent waves of calm across Courfeyrac, putting him instantly at ease despite his vulnerability.

 

“I think he’s damn lucky. If he were my sub he wouldn’t sit for a week,” threatened Éponine, the use of the unfamiliar title sending another shock of anticipation through Courfeyrac, “But fortunately for him he’s your property, not mine. At the very least I’d tie him up though, he needs to learn who owns him, nasty slut that he is.”

 

Something cool slid along Courfeyrac’s bowed neck and pressed lightly under his chin. Reflexively he followed the motion and lifted his head to see Éponine smirking down at him, using a leather-tipped riding crop to manipulate his movements.

 

“What do you think, whore?” she asked, “Would you like to be all trussed up and left to your master’s pleasure?”

 

A shudder visibly rippled through Courfeyrac’s body as he whispered, “Yes Miss.”

 

“Good boy,” Combeferre breathed, placing a grounding hand at the back of Courfeyrac’s neck and stroking a gentle finger up and down his spinal column.

 

“Cuffs, ropes, or ties?” Éponine asked Combeferre while tracing the tip of the crop ticklishly across Courfeyrac’s lips.

 

“Ties,” answered Combeferre firmly.

 

Courfeyrac had agreed in advance to being tied up but had elected to leave the finer details in the hands of his friend. As Combeferre reached into the mysterious box that Éponine had earlier pulled out from underneath her bed, the girl tapped Courfeyrac’s cheek with the crop.

 

“Up.”

 

Courfeyrac stood on shaking legs and allowed Combeferre to bind his wrists tightly together in the small of his back. Combeferre’s firm hands manipulated him so surely, the action pushed Courfeyrac further into his feeling of lightheaded bliss and his cock strained as Combeferre tightened the bindings just enough to chafe a little.

 

“You like that?” Éponine asked, her voice low and threatening, “You like being tied up, being helpless? You realise that he can do anything he wants to with you, and I’m just going to sit here and watch.”

 

Courfeyrac whimpered as Combeferre bit harshly at his neck and sucked a bruise onto the skin.

 

“ _Mine_.”

 

“You’re lucky that you are his you know,” Éponine continued conversationally, twirling the crop in her fingers, “If you were mine I’d keep you tied up for the rest of the night and not let you come at all. I’d spank you until you were raw then fuck you until you cried.”

 

Courfeyrac could feel Combeferre’s hard on grinding against his bare arse as the taller man continued to litter his neck and shoulders with painful bruises and teeth marks while his hands roamed.

 

Éponine noted how Courfeyrac canted his hips into the touch and she growled, “ _Slut_ ,” with a cold smile.

 

“I think he needs to be taught to control that slutty arse of his. ‘Ferre?”

 

“Get the brush,” Combeferre ordered into Courfeyrac’s ear, his tone hot and compelling.

 

Courfeyrac stumbled over to the chest of drawers. Without the use of his hands he was forced to pick up the hairbrush with his mouth. It took a number of tries but eventually he managed to grasp the smooth wooden handle gently between his teeth and carry it to Combeferre, who waited beside the bed.

 

“Drop it,” Éponine barked, smacking the bed with the crop to indicate where she wanted the brush deposited.

 

“Good boy,” murmured Combeferre, sitting down at the edge of the bed, “Now, over my knees.” He patted his lap invitingly.

 

“Yes Combeferre,” Courfeyrac breathed, before dropping gracelessly into his friend’s lap.

 

Combeferre smoothed a warm palm over Courfeyrac’s exposed rear, making the boy whimper and squirm. His fingers traced the fading marks there, making Courfeyrac shiver.

 

Courfeyrac heard a throaty chuckle and felt the crop tilt his head up again. Éponine was grinning down at him, tapping him lightly under the chin as she instructed, “What do we say?”

 

“Please,” managed Courfeyrac breathily, “Please spank me, ‘Ferre.”

 

Éponine tutted once, “He may be a slut but at least he knows how to beg nicely.”

 

Another chuckle, this one in Combeferre’s deeper tones, and Courfeyrac let out a whine as his friend began to knead and pinch the flesh of his arse. Suddenly Éponine brought down the crop in a light smack, making Courfeyrac yelp more from surprise than pain.

 

“So responsive,” Éponine purred, directing her words at Combeferre even as she ran the crop teasingly up and down Courfeyrac’s spine and bound wrists and Combeferre continued to toy with his arse, “What pretty noises are you going to make when your master is beating your sorry, slutty arse?”

 

Courfeyrac whimpered again, then cried out as Combeferre landed the first blow with the brush.

 

“Nineteen to go,” grinned Éponine wickedly, “You’re going to be so sore, and you’re going to be grateful for it.”

 

Another three blows in quick succession had Courfeyrac writhing as Combeferre murmured quietly, “Good boy, you’re taking this so well.”

 

By the twelfth smack Courfeyrac was keening and tears were falling freely from his eyes, wiped off his chin by the tip of Éponine’s crop. His cock was painfully rigid and leaking against Combeferre’s thigh but his mind was flying, his soul was giddy, and his body was singing.

 

Combeferre kept up a steady stream of reassurances in his soft, steady Voice, and even Éponine chipped in a positive observation or two – “You really love this, don’t you? I’ve never seen another slut take his spanking so well.”

 

Finally, after the twentieth blow had landed, its sharp momentary sting fading into a dull ache, Éponine allowed Courfeyrac to drop his head to the ground. He whimpered weakly, beyond words, and tried to thrust his hips against Combeferre in a silent affirmation of how much he had enjoyed the scene.

 

It was Éponine who slyly made the next suggestion.

 

“I think the dirty whore wants more. I think he wants to be fucked.”

 

They had already discussed this possibility of course. Courfeyrac had nodded enthusiastically while Combeferre had blanched, but after a good few minutes of argument from Éponine (“Seriously? Do you remember when you were eleven and puking your guts up and I had to carry you into the bathtub and clean you off? There is no shame here, mate!”) he had agreed to consider it, although reserving the final decision until during the scene, based on Courfeyrac’s reactions.

 

Courfeyrac’s reaction, as it turned out, was to whine needfully and rub himself over and over against Combeferre’s thigh.

 

“Is that what you want?” whispered Combeferre, his Voice gruff now with arousal and his own hard on obvious, “Do you want me to fuck you with her watching?”

 

Another answering whimper came before Courfeyrac was able to form the words, “ _Yes_. Please Combeferre.”

 

Éponine chuckled, teasing the tip of the crop lightly over the cleft of Courfeyrac’s reddened arse and making him writhe again. Combeferre’s breathing was heavy but measured, and Courfeyrac lost himself in the even rhythm as his friend continued where the crop had left off, teasing a finger lightly between his cheeks.

 

Suddenly something wet and cold landed on his heated skin and Courfeyrac yelped; Éponine was standing above him dripping lube out of a bottle and over his arse, her grin sinful and predatory.

 

Combeferre’s fingers slid through the lube, gathering it and spreading it slowly across Courfeyrac before finally, _finally_ , pushing one finger in. Courfeyrac moaned with predictable abandon, pressing himself back on the digit as Éponine chuckled throatily.

 

“What a darling little whore he is!”

 

A second finger joined the first, twisting and scissoring, then a third. Courfeyrac was squirming and begging incoherently, his bound wrists prohibiting him from any serious movement but the needs of his body forcing him to try anyway. After far too long, Combeferre removed his fingers with a murmur of, “I am going to fuck you now and you’re going to be a good boy for me. Understand?”

 

“Y-yes!” He then gasped out a cry as the crop smacked the top of his thigh.

 

“What do you say?” Éponine pressed him.

 

“Yes, please Combeferre. Please fuck me!” Courfeyrac all but sobbed as he was lifted off Combeferre’s lap as easily as if he were a child and placed on his knees on the bed.

 

His upper body slumped forwards onto his shoulders as Combeferre maintained a firm grip on the ties around his wrists. Éponine settled into a chair at the foot of the bed facing Courfeyrac, looking so casual about the whole display that she might as well have been holding a bowl of popcorn.

 

“You know, I’ve never been much of a one for taking dick, but you look like you were born for it. What a little bitch.” Éponine lounged in her chair, grinning languidly and ruffling Courfeyrac’s hair with the crop.

 

“Legs apart, slut, and take what your master is so kindly giving you.”

 

Courfeyrac spread his legs as best he could in his awkward position, groaning as Combeferre ran a soothing hand in small circles over his burning arse.

 

The first thrust was excruciatingly slow, Courfeyrac trying to press himself urgently back onto Combeferre’s cock but restrained by his friend’s firm grip on his hips. Éponine sniggered at his struggles while gently tapping his cheek with the crop.

 

“ _’Ferre_ ,” Courfeyrac groaned, but any further attempts at coherency were circumvented when Combeferre snapped his hips forward harshly, pressing Courfeyrac into the sheets as he set a punishing pace.

 

“He likes it,” purred Éponine, “He loves taking his master’s cock in front of an audience. I’ll bet you could fuck him in front of all your little friends and he’d gladly take your dick.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Courfeyrac rasped, too far gone to be ashamed of how much that thought heated his gut. Éponine’s laugh came to him from far away it seemed as Combeferre began pulling Courfeyrac’s hips back to meet him every time he slammed in, the control and power he exerted almost too much for Courfeyrac, who cried out as his lover repeatedly hit that perfect spot inside him.

 

“You’re very lucky,” Éponine commented, pushing the tip of the crop into Courfeyrac’s mouth and allowing him to suck greedily on it, still moaning, “I wouldn’t be nearly so quick to let you come.”

 

As she spoke, Combeferre’s hand wrapped around Courfeyrac’s cock, pumping him in a rough, messy rhythm as he thrust in and out of his keening friend.

 

Courfeyrac was beyond asking for anything; all he was able to do was whimper plaintively around the leather on his tongue as he felt an irrepressible pressure building inside him. Far above him, like the voice of god, he heard Combeferre growl hoarsely, “Yes, _god yes_ , come on!”

 

Courfeyrac came seconds later almost silently, spilling himself over Combeferre’s hand with a quiet, high-pitched whine. His pleasure left him empty in more ways than one, but the hot spurt of Combeferre’s own release painting his bruised arse cheeks a moment later made him groan happily, satiated and fulfilled.

 

Courfeyrac felt Éponine carefully extracting the crop from his slack mouth, and a minute or two later a warm, wet flannel slid soothingly over his skin, cleaning off the evidence of orgasm. His wrists were unbound by light, delicate fingers while large, strong hands rubbed something cooling over his slightly chafed skin. All the while he registered a constant, soft burr of voices, though he could only catch a few phrases as he drifted in his mind.

 

“… so, so good, you took that so well…”

 

“… nice and clean now, good clean boy…”

 

“’Ferre?” Courfeyrac almost didn’t recognise his own quiet mumble, but Combeferre was instantly stroking his cheek and enquiring, “Yes? I’m right here, you’re okay.”

 

“Hold me?”

 

Courfeyrac allowed himself to be gently pulled into his side and enveloped in Combeferre’s warm, comforting embrace. A soft kiss was pressed to his forehead and he opened bleary eyes to see Éponine smiling benevolently down at him.

 

“Thanks ‘Ponine,” he murmured with a sleepy grin.

 

“You’re more than welcome. You did very well, we’re both very proud of you. I’m going to go now but ‘Ferre is staying right here with you to take care of his good boy.”

 

He felt the brush of her arm as she reached across him to affectionately ruffle Combeferre’s hair.

 

“You _both_ did so well, good boys.”

 

Courfeyrac was blissfully asleep before she even closed the door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely co-author TaliesonSings aka Lynchy :) xx


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